ShadowPuppets
by Xx.Toxic.Little.KisseS.xX
Summary: Nothing In The World Is As Fake As Our Smiles -soriku, warnings within-


**Shadow-Puppets**

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/nothing in the world is as fake as our smiles\

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=_warnings:angst, vague lemonness, v.v. mention of riksorkai n heavy mentions of soriku, multiple char death, lack of kairi-bashing, timeskip and repetition abuse mid way... that's a lot of warnings for something of this size, but i just cant help myself sometimes..._

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_**xXx**_

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He smiles. A bittersweet motion, that once held the awe of planets upon planets of people.

His smile is like the toxic residue of a planet rotting from the inside out, humming, alive only with the little black swarms that invaded and conquered.

And its cause is just the same.

The boy at his side, older then he and just as worn, just as empty, can only just remember a time when that smile was real, and offered to much much more then the thrill of a slaughter.

Way back then, Sora was more then a weapon, he was a light, a savior, a friend above any.

The selfless kid, the always-giving teen, had become the wielder of a keyblade.

A weapon that could slaughter the heartless nightmares in every shadow, who could decimate an army in minutes.

Of course it had side-effects.

The pure heart that made him able to wield the fabled blade, was the exact same reason he should never have to.

Murder. Pain. Loss. Torture. Killing upon killing upon killing.

Never should a beautiful heart and soul like Sora's be put through such things, and if it was... it shattered, piece by broken peice.

And all that was left was the wielder of the keyblade.

Eyes glinting with obscure bloodlust, body battle-worn and tense with alertness. Smile dead, lifeless, and offered for the battle waiting just beyond the rise.

Riku stood at his side, just as tence, just as worn, his own dark-tainted keyblade resting in his hand, a familiar and still-heavy burden.

But the other was gone now, the third wheel to their gears, the other part to their pact. A girl who hadn't lived quite long enough to see what they became. Was lucky enough to be the one who sped it along, rather then the one to live with the pain and emptiness.

But Kairi had left a gap within them both. The largest reason they both fought. She was their humanity, when all else lost reason, and it left as abruptly as she.

"I can smell them," Sora murmurs, to the boy at his side a little more then to himself alone. The gathering of soldiers behind them were ignored. No attachments, more then half would die before the nights end, and the other half soon after.

Fact, not pessimism. They worked on facts and instinct and battle-honed skill. No time for pessimism, optimism or that silly thing named hope.

"Close," Riku agrees, assuring the younger and stronger that he was ready, and alert.

With a hum, the brunet lifts his blade to his shoulder, an ancient salute to a man they lost in the field when the real war began. The salute was habitual, but no longer with real feeling. Squall Leonhart was nothing but ash in the wind, and remembered only truthfully by the sleek wooden cross bearing his name behind the castle in Radiant Garden.

Riku watched from the corner of his eye, then fingered the chain looped around his wrist, using that hand to weild his blade. Just as ancient of salute to the other man they were once close to, in the same battle. Cloud Strife's fernir pendant glittered in the pale dusk light, then faded with the oncoming twilight.

"Are you ready?" Sora asks, with all the pleading he can muster.

"As ready as you," Riku responds. And its routine, but always the truth. They each no without the other they would break beyond repair. Turn into the growling beasts they live to slaughter.

"Move!" Sora then relayed the order, urging on the mass of soldiers, moving just ahead of them, and right in step with Riku.

The fresh night air lit with the sound of yelling and pain and death. The clang of sword and armour. The tear of flesh and darkness. The inhuman howls of pain, resonating with the sight of a small heart floating to the heavens.

Dragon-beasts roared, soldiers bellowed, shadows shifted, Riku destroyed, nocturnes sung, Sora decimated.

The only victory lay in the stink of death and the fade of heartless corpses.

What was left were mangled bodies, bloody and beaten bare-survivors. And Sora and Riku.

Riku who gathered wood for pyres, Sora who rebuilt barriers.

Then the others would swarm in, weapons would be rescued before the fire, armour and boots and items claimed for reuse.

Aerith's magic would sing, and soldiers would shift, Yuna would dance, and the fire would release an unbroken heart to join the many others. Cid would claim the youngest two soldiers, pulling them away a moment to feed them news from the mouse king and two closest protectors.

Tifa would drag them to the mess hall, to feed them up and beg them to sleep.

Merlin would read the stars, and remain pensive on the highest roof.

And Riku and Sora would smile through out.

Smile the falsest smile ever to grace either faces.

And Sora would yawn, the fakest of yawns.

And Riku would stretch, with falsest of need.

They would disappear to the room they were given.

Sometimes, Sora would cry when the door clicked shut behind them.

Sometimes, Riku would rage when the hall light faded.

But the smiles would fade from their faces, always.

And their ever-present guard would fade from their movements.

Everytime, the pair shared the ache of their day, the pain of their duties.

Sometimes, Riku would comment.

Sometimes, Sora would remember,

But they always would think of something other then death for a little while.

And the agony of their existence would dull.

Everytime, the two pushed themselves away from the world that became them.

Sometimes, Sora would pull Riku atop himself.

Sometimes, Riku would push Sora against something.

But they relished the pleasure that made their hearts pound for no battle.

And everything but each other would disapear.

Everytime, they would love each other the only way they still could.

And it was love, without the words.

It was honesty without the assurance.

It was _feeling_ in the one place, to the one person, who could never destroy him for it.

In the moments shared in the room that seemed like more then another world, they existed.

They moved without cause to hurt, with apologies for injury, with care and need and honesty.

It was perfect, like all the ways it could-have-been will-never-be, except for here and now, and maybe tomorrow, if either survives to see it.

"You die, I die," Riku promises, as he falls downdowndown from the pretty white of his highest point.

Sora snarls slightly, a remainder of the outside walls, "I live, you better live," he growls, "no one but you, can kill my anti-self, get it?"

Riku pulls the brunet close, "You die, I die," Riku repeats, harshly with the disused honesty that burns his throat just as much as the lies used to.

And Sora sobs, small little hiccup things as he messily bruises his lips against his friends, rubbing and grinding and praying with his body, because it's impossable to believe anything else is listening to him now.

"I live, you live," Riku swears when he can pull his lips far enough away.

"You die for me and ill kill every person alive," Sora hisses, knowing the words not spoken even more clearly then those that are.

Riku flips them, ignoring the sweat and semen still sticking them together, as he once more thrusts forward, into a place he knows inside and out.

"Exactly," Riku growls, pinning the boys hands, "you die for me, ill do the same, you cant ask any less."

The smaller boy throws his head back to moan through teeth clenched with lingering anger, "you cannot die on me!" he demands, pulling his legs tight around the others waist.

Riku makes an odd pleasured-pained noise, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the others. "You die. I die," he repeats, emphasizing the entire statement, "don't die Sora, please, don't you die."

And Sora can't promise, can't promise just like Riku can't. Because in this little room away from it all, the smiles aren't there, because nothing in all the worlds, is as fake as the quirk in their lips.

And lies are never as far as when they move away, together, into that blissful Room Of Truth.

And as they collapse, beyond spent and aching in a thousand different ways, they both remember, a time when these moments were full of smiles and content and Kairi.

And they don't remember, just how many times the next day could be worse then the last...

It was for then, when they walked outside of the door, when they were the broken hero's that were needed of them, and never the broken victims that they really were.

**xXx**

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a/n: gah! wrote this out from 3:32 am to 4:41 am... inspired by my insanity muse, and my firm belief that Sora could never be a killer - no matter how eager he seemed in the begining.


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